Perhaps Poem by Jason Paul Monlinong

it is not often that clouds become spotless
and if it were spring in Tuscany, I would not
for the world, miss such a pricless surprise
not even if you're in bed and your voice remain sultry
i wouldn't stay, much more be forced to undress
bereft of pants, exposed in glory, a chest mat
pushing myself outside, the air without a feel of ice
will greet my flushed skin, then in no hurry
i will follow the trails in a wild forest
into the meadows, where the ground is somehow hot
i will lay there, and stare into the bluest of skies
perhaps i'll be spared of your unrelenting apathy